


Vigor

by GodofWorms



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Denial of Feelings, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Jealousy, Porn With Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodofWorms/pseuds/GodofWorms
Summary: There's no harm in it; it's only a chocolate candy from the East, far over the ocean somewhere in Essos. Sansa's heard the handmaidens' excited whispers about it. She was only curious to see what had all the women so hyped up. It wasn't quite stealing if she only took one, was it? Or maybe two, one to share with her friend?***There's a new, synthetic aphrodisiac making its way through Winterfell. Sansa only knows that it's a highly sought after piece of candy, not that it would make her want and need things that she'd never before felt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted this tbh.  
> The characters are aged up from the books, but still young. Sansa is 16 and Jon is 19.

When Sansa was very young, she would have delighted at the idea of being married to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms. It was her dream for as long as she could remember, of being a princess, a queen ... of ruling at the side of a brave and capable man. But she was not young anymore, and she had not felt anywhere near excited when her father had told her of the betrothal to Prince Joffrey Baratheon. Disappointed was the more fitting descriptor. She'd thought on it, on what reason she could possibly have for not being thrilled at the prospect of such a wondrous future, but when her thoughts lead her to the odd and uncomfortable direction of Jon Snow, she refused to think on it any longer. Of all her siblings, she was the least close with Jon. She didn't like him very much at all. He was aggravating and obnoxious and she wished he'd put a shirt on when he was hacking at the wooden dummies in the training yard. No one needed to see that. Not her, and not every other pretty, prissy, ditzy girl around. Would she be sad to leave behind her home upon marrying Joffrey? Yes, of course she would. Would she be sad to leave behind Jon? Yes. Not more than the rest of her family, though. Not more than anyone else. Her disappointment at her betrothal was ... confusing, even to her. Her disappointment at Jon's sudden and recent coldness toward her after the announcement was also rather confusing.

But anyway, she didn't want to think of Joffrey or Jon or disappointments. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to have fun and spend time with her family while she still had the chance.

And she wanted Jon to  _stop_ undressing in the training yard, there were  _people_ around!

After she passed by the cluster of giggling young women swooning over her brother, Sansa rampaged toward where he'd discarded his tunic. She snatched it off the ground and threw it at him, perhaps a little harder than she'd meant to, and it hit him on the back of his head, draping over his face momentarily blinding him. Startled, he froze for a moment and then yanked it off, spinning around to look at her. The sheen of sweat on his skin glistened as he did, and Sansa tried not to watch how he sparkled.

"Did you just throw this at me?" he asked her, stunned.

At his nasty tone, Sansa straightened herself out, raising her chin.

" _Please_ , put some clothes on in public," she said. "It's rather indecent, don't you think? People shouldn't have to be forced to see you half-naked anywhere you please."

Jon's eyes narrowed just slightly. He stared for a moment and then took his tunic in both hands, shaking it out.

"You're right, my lady," he said, words dripping with contempt. "My mistake."

He yanked his tunic on and turned away from her, his sword coming down on the training dummy harder than before.

Sansa huffed. How  _insufferable_ , how  _disingenuous_ , how  _obnoxious!_ She looked over at the gaggle of young women, who were now giving her judgmental looks.

"You're still here?" she asked sharply.

They started to disperse, and Jon threw his sword onto the ground, turning on her. Sansa looked from the girls to him, surprised to find he looked offended ... even a little hurt.

"Of course I'm still here," he said without meeting her eye, starting to leave. "I was here long before you."

She hadn't meant _him_. How foolish could he be? As though she would dismiss him from anywhere.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Closer to her now than he was a moment ago, he came to a halt, his eyes fixed firmly on her now. And then he looked to the girls who were walking away, whispering and throwing disgruntled looks at Sansa over their shoulders. And then he looked back to her. His face had softened so abruptly that she felt too vulnerable to hold his gaze.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said as she left, trying to sound angry, but her voice had grown quiet. "You  _always_ look at me like that."

It never bothered her in the past, but it did now. Granted, it was better than the way he'd been looking at her for the past few months, or rather  _not_ looking at her; ignoring her, acting dismissively, acting like even being in the same space as her was just _so_ difficult these days. It started at the same time her betrothal was revealed, which was more than a little annoying for Sansa. Not only did she have to deal with the fact that she'd be married and shipped off soon, but now Jon had decided to hold a grudge against her for no apparent reason, dampening her mood further. She wanted her last few weeks at home to be happy ones, not filled with anxiety about Jon and why he was being cruel to her.

"You're welcome to stay and watch if you'd like."

Warmth spread instantly from above her pattering heart to her neck, rising through her cheeks. He'd said it innocently enough, not sounding like he was taunting her, but he must have been.

"Of course I don't want to," she snapped, not even capable of looking at him as she hurried toward the doors to the castle. "How preposterous."

Minutes later, Sansa was nearly to the kitchens, muttering about Jon and his nonsense and intending to find some lemon cakes to calm her irritation, when excited whisperings pulled her in another direction.

"You  _must_ try it, you just  _must."_

Her curiosity was, of course, piqued. Instead of continuing straight to the kitchens, she turned down the corridor to her right, toward the voices trailing out of the cracked door to one of the servant's chambers.

"Have you had one already?" came another voice, just as excited.

Sansa stopped, leaning close.

"I've had more than one," said the first woman, and Sansa thought her voice sounded conspiratorial. That made her listen harder. What were these servants conspiring about? "Here, take a canister full." There was the sound of something tumbling into a glass bottle. "I promise you, it's like nothing you've ever had. Share them if you want. There's a greater shipment arriving next week, so we'll be stocked full. I think we can make quite the profit at the brothels."

Sansa's brow furrowed. What on Earth...? 

Both women came giggling out of the room, the second one clutching a bottle of....

Chocolates?

Chocolates selling in brothels? That was strange. Was candy a popular item in those places? They must have been the most spectacular chocolates in the world, then, by the way these women spoke of them.

"Lady Sansa," said the second woman, curtsying at once and hiding her hands behind her back, looking frightened.

The first woman addressed her in the same way, glancing at her friend.

Sansa smiled at them, not wanting them to know she'd been eavesdropping.

"Good day," she said, smoothing out her dress, and in a move rather more stilted than a Lady should do, she turned and strode away back to the kitchens.

She wasn't very interested in chocolates anyway. She just came for her lemon cakes.

But over the next few days, Sansa heard nothing but talk of this mysterious chocolate. The women were all talking about it; servants, handmaidens, even the smallfolk in Wintertown. Whispering about it, more like. Sansa had never seen anything take such a hold over Winterfell. It was called 'Vigor' apparently, which Sansa thought was an odd name for a chocolate candy. But she wasn't exactly part of a delicacy marketing committee, so what did she know? From what she'd picked up, it was from somewhere in the deep East, somewhere with a name so foreign she couldn't remember it no matter how many times she'd heard it. Maybe the people of Essos had a different meaning for the word 'vigor'. Perhaps to them, it meant 'splendid', or 'delightful', or 'delicious'. That made more sense to Sansa considering everyone was in such a hype over it.

What she noticed almost immediately was that no one spoke about it in the company of lords and ladies, at least not knowingly. That must have meant it was a  _secret_ delicious chocolate candy. Which was absolutely thrilling to Sansa. She could keep a secret. She'd always liked things like this. No, she wouldn't tell a soul, not even her mother and father. Not her siblings, not anyone. Well, maybe Jeyne, once she managed to get her hands on one. She could share this magical treat with her friend and judge together whether it was as incredible as everyone else seemed to think. A Lady's tastes _were_ superior after all.

It was a few more days before she was able to snag a couple, though. She'd been watching for this, waiting for when this 'shipment' was meant to come in. It was apparent that it did by the influx of visitors to the rooms of the two servants Sansa had been spying on.

It was certainly not ladylike to hide outside the servant's room and wait for her to leave, and it was worse to snoop around her private quarters just for chocolate, but Sansa was so curious that she thought she'd  _die_ if she didn't try it. And since it was kept secret from the higher class peoples, Sansa was sure they wouldn't sell it to her if she tried buying them. She also hadn't mentioned any of this to Jeyne yet, having decided it would be fun to surprise her with the world's greatest piece of candy in Winterfell's history.

There weren't many hiding places in such a small room, so Sansa found what she was looking for near instantly. There was a large, beautiful crimson piece of pottery crowded into a corner. When she opened it, she saw it half-full with individually wrapped round balls, what she assumed were the chocolates. When she'd seen them the first time, they weren't wrapped. But maybe these ones were a different edition. Maybe they were even better.

Sansa grabbed two and set the lid back on the pot with a gentle _clank_  before hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her. She made sure the halls were clear and then scurried away, intending to go to Wintertown where she knew she'd find Jeyne. She was intercepted, however, by someone she'd been avoiding for the last week since her little tunic-throwing outburst. It was too embarrassing to try to face him again. She was a Lady. Ladies shouldn't have outbursts.

As soon as she saw him come around the corner, she stumbled to a stop and looked wildly around for an escape before realizing with a sinking feeling of dread that there wasn't one. In a move that was clumsy and silly even for her, she flipped back a nearby tapestry hanging over the wall and pressed back into the stone, as though that could disguise her, as though the entire outline of her body wasn't perfectly visible. Jon didn't stop until he was close, and then he lifted the tapestry away from her body. Sansa pretended not to see him for a moment before realizing that was ridiculous, and flicked her eyes briefly to him and then away again.

"Hello," she said, pleasantly enough.

A slight frown was pinching his features.

"Are you hiding?" he asked.

Apparently so.

"No," she said anyway, acting as though her behaviour was not odd in the slightest.

Jon didn't say anything for long enough that she looked at him again.

"You're hiding from me, aren't you?" he asked, looking vulnerable.

"Of course not," she said at once. "I already said no. I'm not hiding from anyone."

He didn't quite look like he believed her, but he also didn't seem interested in pushing the subject, which meant his standing there, silently staring at her, was making her highly uncomfortable.

She cleared her throat.

"Now, if you don't mind," she said, ducking quickly under his arm to continue on her way.

One of the chocolates fell as she did and it landed at his feet, though she hadn't realized until it was too late.

"What's this?" he asked.

When Sansa turned, he was already bending to pick it up.

It was a secret, wasn't it? Everyone was so hush-hush about it. She wasn't supposed to tell, had promised herself she would only make an exception for Jeyne.

"Just a chocolate," she said, doubling back to stand in front of him, holding out her hand. "May I have it back?"

He set it in her palm, looking at her. Sansa thanked him and halfway turned before stopping again, hesitating, and then turned to face him again. It wasn't like she thought giving him the most incredible chocolate to ever exist was going to make him start acknowledging her like he used to, but ... maybe.

"Would you like to try it?" she asked.

She held out her hand again, palm face up with the chocolate sitting proudly in its coppery wrapping. Jon was giving her a peculiar look, but he took it anyway.

"Sure," he said, peeling off the casing. "Thanks."

Sansa unwrapped hers, too, but waited for Jon to try it before she tried hers. She had high hopes for his reaction. If it was really so great, she could just snatch another one for Jeyne later.

Jon popped it in his mouth, and Sansa stared eagerly at his face.

"What's it like?" she asked immediately.

He nodded, chewing. "It's good."

"Is it the best chocolate you've ever had?" she pressed.

He gave her a weird look. "It's all right."

Sansa didn't believe him.

"Everyone's been talking about how wonderful it is," she said accusingly. "They all love it."

"Well, I don't pretend to have a vast knowledge of chocolates," he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his knuckle before gesturing to her candy. "Try it for yourself."

Sansa took a small nibble, waiting for some sort of flavour explosion on her tongue, but it was ... well, it was as Jon said. It was all right. It was sweet and a little spicy, definitely not something she'd ever had before. It _did_ have hints of something foreign, though Sansa couldn't place what. Maybe some kind of Essosi spice.

"Oh," she said, mildly disappointed, and delicately took the rest into her mouth, sucking on it. "I wonder why everyone was so interested."

"Where did you get them?" he asked.

"A servant girl gave them to me."

She started walking, and Jon came with her.

"What?" he asked, a little confused.

"Well," Sansa said as they turned the corner, "I stole them, actually."

_"What?"_

"Stop that," she said, glancing at him.

He was shaking his head, clearly irritated by her again. She was inclined for the barest moment to ask him to give her the chocolate back, as though he could spit it out whole and return it. Had she honestly believed he would come around just because she gave him candy?

(Yes, she had. So why didn't he? The stubborn mule.)

She came to an abrupt stop, Jon doing the same a moment later at just a step in front of her.

"Why are you being this way?" she asked.

"Why are  _you_ being this way?"

His response had been instant, as though the same question had been on his mind.

Sansa stood taller, bewildered.

"I'm not."

"You are," he said at once.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped. "I'm not doing anything."

"You've avoided me for a sennight," he said, and she clamped her mouth shut. Stupidly, she'd hoped he wouldn't bring it up. "The last time I even saw you was in the training yard a week ago."

"I've not been avoiding  _you_ ," she said, though she was. She'd acted in such a juvenile manner, how could she  _not_ avoid him? "I've been avoiding everyone."

"Of course you have."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"So, then?" she prompted, not giving in. "What about you?"

Jon scoffed, stepping closer.

"What  _about_ me?"

It was irritating that she needed to take a breath of  _courage_ just to admit her vulnerabilities, but she wanted to know. She needed to.

"I know we've never been as close as you are with Arya, but you ... you used to be nicer to me than this."

His face softened, his lips parting gently, and Sansa flushed.

"And that!" she said, pointing with raised brows to his suddenly changed expression; the one that she hated, the one that she missed. "You used to look at me nicely like that before, and now you're always scowling."

He stared, looking regretful.

"I'm...."

Sansa waited a moment, but he didn't finish. She let out a long sigh and looked down, her voice gentler when she spoke again.

"You know, Jon, it's already hard enough knowing I'm going to be leaving soon for King's Landing. You don't have to make it harder by taking your anger out on me. And what do you even have to be angry about?  _You're_ not the one being forced to marry Joffrey Baratheon."

"Sansa," he said, shaking his head, reaching out to touch her arm. "I'm not--"

He stopped abruptly, looking away and blinking rapidly. He let out a sharp exhale and stumbled back.

"What?" she asked quickly, confused. "What is it?"

"I don't...." He was shaking his head. "I don't know."

His skin had grown flushed, his hands trembling ever so slightly at his sides. Sansa was all at once afraid. What was happening?

"You don't look well," she said, stepping toward him. "Do you feel ill?"

"No, I ... I feel warm."

"A fever?" she asked, touching his forehead. It was heated, but not overly.

"I don't know," he said.

She huffed, dropping her hand. "You don't know much, do you?"

He looked up at her then, meeting her eyes, and something else happened. His face slackened and his pupils exploded all at once to full dilation for just an instant before returning to normal. Sansa stepped back, alarmed.

He didn't say anything, inhaling shaky breaths.

"What just happened to your eyes?" she asked in a whisper, afraid to keep looking, but not wanting to look away.

Jon frowned. "Did something happen? I think I've been ... I think I'm poisoned."

Sansa was about to tell him they should see a maester when her breath was stolen by a delightful sensation in her body. Tendrils of warmth flourished outward starting in her chest, travelling to the tips of her fingers and up through her head, down her legs, filling her whole body. It was the pleasant feeling of being submerged in a lavender bath, but on the inside. Sansa sighed, her eyelids fluttering.

"Sansa?" Jon asked in concern.

She looked at him, into his grey eyes, and it was like something in her locked into place. She felt it strongly enough that she couldn't breathe for a moment, could merely stare. His face came into vivid, pristine focus, and then softened again. She quite liked that he was with her right then.

He immediately looked panicked, though, stepping closer.

"Your eyes," he said. "Sansa, your eyes. Your pupils, they--"

"So did yours," she said, a little breathless. She was rather hot now, too. "Earlier."

"Was that a damned poisoned chocolate?" he asked, his voice nigh on a yell.

"It couldn't have been," she said, though unease was pressing in around her heart. "No, certainly not. It wasn't. I'm sure of it."

"Are you?" he asked.

She wasn't. But she was distracted from that train of thought by an influx of warmth radiating from her chest, like a pulse had just been released. Sweat was beginning to drip down her neck.

"I need to ..." she started shakily, taking a deep breath and backing away, "I need to go to my chambers."

Her dress was feeling a little tight right then. She wanted to be out of it.

"We need to go to a  _maester_ ," he said, gripping her arm to stop her leaving.

His touch sent a thrill through her body at the place they made contact. Jon jerked his arm back, his expression dark and intense.

"You chambers," he said breathlessly. "To your chambers."

She wasn't paying much attention to him, for she couldn't seem to focus on anything very well at the moment. She was only aware enough to know that he was following her. She was sure he was saying things every so often, but she couldn't manage to listen. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, and she felt as though she was floating.

There was another pulse of warmth from her heart, extending through her whole body, and she had to stop, her hand on the wall. She wasn't aware of how heavily she was breathing until Jon touched her lower back. Even through her clothes, it sent a heated tremble down her spine.

To her mortification, she let out a quiet moan, but she forgot about it the second he spoke.

"Are you sure those weren't poisoned?" he asked, voice trembling slightly.

How could she be sure? Something odd and pleasurable was happening, it was happening to the both of them, and it only started after they ate the chocolates. So something must have been wrong with them. Poison was likely, really. But what kind of poison would feel this nice? Maybe it was a bad batch?  _This is why you shouldn't steal_ , she berated herself.

"Sansa," Jon urged, tense.

"They very well might have been poisoned," she said, a little worried, but the feeling couldn't catch hold.

She quickly let herself into her chambers, closing the door behind her, but Jon stopped it with his hand and followed her in. Sansa stilled, staring at him as he shut the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making sure you're not going to drop dead," he said. It seemed like he was trying to sound angry, but his voice was pitched too low, too soft to have the effect.

Sansa didn't want to hear his voice right now. She  _really_ didn't want to. It was ... something; it was something she didn't want to think about. She needed to be alone. And her dress needed to come off. Why was she getting so hot?

Oh, of course. Poisoned chocolates.

Jon stepped toward her, his eyes on her, and Sansa's entire body jolted in pleasure. She took a hasty step back, her hand pressed to her abdomen, and pointed to the door with the other.

"I'd like for you to leave," she said as firmly as she could, which wasn't firm at all.

Her mouth was dry, her body uncomfortable, and what had moments ago been a pleasant warmth was quickly ascending to an uncomfortable burn. The pulses from her heart were coming quicker, and she didn't know how it could be possible, but she was sure the heat her heart was generating was being trapped inside her body. She felt on fire. An ice bath would be splendid. If she could lie naked on top of the Wall at that very moment, she'd do so without a second thought.

Jon was staring at her, standing in the same spot as before, effectively not leaving.

"If I'm going to die, your being here is not going to prevent it," she said, her voice wavering. His dark eyes on her were doing something to her body.

He looked down from her face, his gaze travelling along her neck, her bosom, and slowly going lower, looking ... predatory; hungry, she might even say; making it seem like he wasn't in control of himself. If anyone asked, Sansa would swear she could feel it physically, his eyes on her.

"Jon," she said loudly, sharply.

He looked away from her, swallowing. She knew what he was feeling. She could feel it, too.

"We're going to die," he said, closing his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "This is some kind of death, it must be."

Sansa swallowed herself, striding toward him.

"Please go," she said, reaching for his arm, meaning to escort him out. "You really can't be here right now."

The moment her hand touched him, there was a powerful lessening of the discomfort in her body. The fire blazing inside dimmed at once, as if doused with water. It was back to the warm, pleasant feeling, back to making her shiver in pleasure. If Jon's expression was anything to go by, he felt it, too.

He was staring at her again, lifting his other hand to her face. She didn't know why she let him touch her cheek, but when his thumb grazed her skin, she could think of nothing but how wonderful it felt, his bare skin on hers, how she wanted _his_ hands and only his. She wanted them everywhere.

"Jon," she breathed, closing her eyes.

She felt his breath on her lips, his touch growing more insistent, her body shivering, the apex of her thighs warm and soft and seeking.

A sudden loud rapping at her door had Sansa jerking her eyes open. Jon's face was precariously close to hers, which she tried not to think about. She swallowed again, stepping back and breaking all contact. The uncomfortable heat didn't return straightaway like she'd imagined, though her body felt unstable. The knock came again.

Sansa let out a shaky breath and tugged Jon further into the room, trying not to think about why touching him felt so wonderful.

"Hide," she hissed, pushing him toward her bed. "Quick, under there."

He seemed just as eager as she was not to be seen with her. Why should either of them not want to be seen together? They weren't doing anything wrong. They were ... siblings. They were siblings.

Sansa wet her dry lips and went to the door as soon as Jon was safely tucked away underneath her bed. Whoever was on the other side of the door was clearly growing impatient considering the way their knocking had turned to pounding. Swinging the door open, Sansa was bombarded by Jeyne Poole's eager squeal.

"Sansa, I've been looking all over for you!" she said, hurrying inside despite Sansa's protests. "Why are you in your chambers at high noon? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I have a present for you."

Sansa glanced nervously toward the bed.

"Jeyne, I don't think this is the best--"

"Oh, hush," she said. "I'm not staying. I just came to drop _this_ by."

She opened her hand, revealing two familiar, wrapped chocolates. Sansa lost her breath.

"Cost me a fortune, mind, but you're worth it. See it as an early wedding gift."

She held out her hand for Sansa to take the chocolates. As  _if_ Sansa would do that again.

"Jeyne, these are dangerous," Sansa said in a rush. "I've ... heard people talking about them, I think they're poison."

Jeyne snorted. "They're not  _poison_ , Sansa." She lowered her voice. "They're an aphrodisiac."

"An afro--what?"

She'd never heard that word before. Jeyne's smile was sly.

"They're from the East," she said. "They're not ordinary chocolates, they're magic, infused with something from Essos. Since you're to marry Prince Joffrey soon, I thought you could both use them on your wedding night. The consummation won't be painful that way. I've heard sex is always  _much_ better than normal when you eat one of these."

Sansa couldn't concentrate. What was she talking about? Sex? Her body was climbing to a burn again.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, trying desperately to follow along. "Why would a chocolate make a difference?"

"They're an aphrodisiac, Sansa, I told you," she said, taking Sansa's hand and placing the chocolates in them. "They invigorate you like nothing else. They make you  _really_ want it, you know?"

Sansa didn't know. She didn't know anything. Where was Jon? She wanted him to touch her.

"Want what?" she asked breathlessly.

"Sex, Sansa! Honestly, are you feeling all right? Why are you so warm?"

"Fever," Sansa said quickly, starting to panic. The chocolates were some kind of drug? Some kind of sex drug?

Jeyne frowned. "Should I call a maester in?"

"No," she said, a little too sharply. "No, I'll call for one myself."

"If you're sure," she said, looking a little worried.

"How long does it last?" Sansa asked in a rush.

Jeyne's concern left in an instant when she giggled.

"I can get you more if you're that eager, but you should try those ones first."

"No, I mean ... if you eat one, how long do you have before the effects wear off? How soon should you ... have sex?"

"Oh, well, it doesn't wear off," she said, much to Sansa's horror. "There are some really scary stories going around about these actually. Apparently it becomes unbearable if you don't--you know ... get busy. One girl in Wintertown used it and said she felt like she was burning inside for days because she accidentally locked eyes with the wrong man. She couldn't get rid of it until she slipped him a chocolate and made sure she was the first person he saw."

Sansa was so lost. She  _also_ felt like she was burning inside, so she wanted to know just how this woman got rid of the pain. Jeyne's instructions seemed odd, though.

"What do you mean, she locked eyes with the wrong man?"

"Oh!" said Jeyne. "I forgot to say, you have to make sure that you're only with Joffrey when you eat these. He must be the _first_ person you look at once it kicks in because the chocolate doesn't stop working until you have sex with _that_ person. Good thing you mentioned it. Imagine if you hadn't known and the first person you saw was Theon Greyjoy. You'd have had to have sex with  _Theon_ to make it go away. You'd be doomed."

Sansa couldn't breathe. That wasn't ... no, that didn't sound right. Because she'd locked eyes with Jon, and that was ... no. Gods, no.

"I have to go, though," said Jeyne. "I have singing lessons. I just came by to give you these. Be sure to call the maester, though. You're looking quite ill."

She said nothing else before leaving, closing the door behind her. Sansa remained where she was, staring at the door in complete shock. There was a sound at her right, and it was only then that she remembered Jon. When she whirled on him, he was already standing beside the bed, gazing at her with uncontained lust. She bit back a moan at that look. How could she feel this way? How was it possible for mind to evoke such an emotion? It was unlike anything she'd ever felt, not just for Jon, but for anyone. His lips were parted and expelling harsh breaths, her heart was stuttering in her chest, and a wild, desperate side of her wanted to throw herself into his arms and tell him to do whatever he wanted to her. It was so exciting knowing he wouldn't turn her away.

With a whimper, Sansa hurried to the door, throwing it open before looking out into the corridor both ways. It was empty, thank the Gods. She needed him to leave.

"Get out," she said, holding the door wide and standing out of the way for him. He didn't move, though, his gaze heavy on her. "Get  _out_ ," she said again, harsher this time. "Get out, _get out_ , get OUT!"

This time, he listened. He pulled his eyes away from hers and stormed to the door. When he passed her, a wave of air carrying his scent washed over her that was the most alluring thing she'd ever smelled. He was divine. She closed her eyes and squeezed her nose shut, slamming the door and locking it the instant he was out, striding down the hall away from her.

Sansa had the mind to lock the door, but she pressed herself against it with eyes closed, willing him back, though never wanting him anywhere near her again. Maybe she really should call a maester. Maybe she should call her mother.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly an hour later, she was no better off than before. She  _had_ found her mother, who'd been horrified at the state Sansa was in, sweating and whimpering and hot to the touch. Then when she'd called the maester, he'd been entirely unsure of what to do. He'd never seen anything like it before, but according to him, there was nothing too wrong. It was nothing more than a strain of flu. She'd get over it in a week's time, he said. Sansa wanted to call him a fool, wanted to yell at him for his incompetence. Maybe he had some kind of remedy for sex chocolates in his medicine stores, but how on  _Earth_ was she supposed to tell him that was what she needed?

But no, that wasn't what she needed. She needed Jon. She couldn't stop thinking about him, about his hands and his voice, his soft, curly hair ... she wanted to touch him and be touched by him. She wanted him so desperately that it made it hard to breathe, even though a meek, drowned-out voice in her head knew it was wrong, that it wasn't real ... it was just the drug.

Her mother eventually left her alone when the sky was darkening, promising to see her in the morning and telling Sansa to come to her if it got worse. Sansa said she would.

And then it did get worse. It got much worse.

Before, she was just fiery hot. That was the worst of it, an encompassing heat. Now, it was something else. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it, and her entire body was aflame, as though she was a witch being burned at the stake. She was so wet at her core that her thighs were slippery with slick when she rubbed them together, and it took huge self-restraint not to hump her hips into her bed like a lowborn woman. She could do nothing but lie there, sobbing because it hurt so badly, clutching her bed furs because she wanted it to stop. If it got any worse, she might start screaming. How could it get any worse? How did the woman Jeyne spoke of manage this for days?

Unless Sansa really  _did_ have a bad batch of chocolates. What if they really were laced with something poisonous? Was she going to die like this? Was Jon?

Though it took all the strength she could muster, Sansa shoved off her bed and hurried to her chamber doors. She needed to see her mother because it _hurt_ , it hurt so badly, unlike anything ever. She needed to be comforted, to be told everything was going to be all right, especially if this was her dying moment.

But when she reached her door, it became slightly better, just a little. And then a little better still, and even better, and the pain was subsiding by the second. It didn't quite leave, but it was lessening enough that she could breathe. Her heart rate was slowing down. This ... this wasn't so bad, compared to moments ago.

And then she heard quick, sharp steps building outside in the hall, coming to her chambers. Her entire body shivered, somehow knowing who it was. Her fingers were clumsy in their haste to unlock the door, for the steps had stopped outside and she needed it open already. As soon as the latch was undone, she flung open the door, unable to help herself, and sighed at the sight of him. He was there as she knew he was. She opened the door wider and moved out of the way to let him in. It was dangerous to do it. The hungry look on his face should frighten her, but it thrilled her instead. When he came inside, he didn't take his eyes off her, and she couldn't close the door fast enough.

She stood in front of it, barring his exit, and looked into his heated eyes.

"Does it hurt you, too?" she asked.

He swallowed.

"Not as much now I'm around you."

Sansa took a deep, shuddering breath, his voice and the meaning behind his words doing things to her that they shouldn't.

"Me, too," she breathed.

Jon clenched his jaw.

"Can I touch you?" he asked. "Just your skin."

She nodded at once, far too eager, and Jon's hands came up to hold her face. It was instant relief, his touch immediately balming her insides. Jon let out a quiet, low moan. When her eyes closed, he leaned closer, and she met the door with a light  _bump_. It felt even better after she reached up and grabbed the hot, bare skin of his wrist. She was soft and pliant, reveling in how Jon was taking control. She really, really wanted him to keep touching her, to touch her somewhere else.

"Touch me more," she begged, and he did.

He lowered his hands, trailing down her neck to her shoulders, gliding down over the swell of her breasts. Sansa shivered.

"We really shouldn't do this," she said, though she made no move to stop him and wasn't going to. "Don't you know? It's just the drug. It'll wear off."

She didn't think it would, though.

Jon gently squeezed her breasts.

"I can't think of anything but your pretty face, and your pretty body, and how much prettier it would look without all this on," he said, tugging at her dress.

Sansa moaned, dropping her hands to his waist and pulling her hips into his. He was hard already, and she could easily imagine what he would feel like inside her. She wanted it. It was frightening how much.

"Sansa," Jon breathed, his hand travelling down her body, along her belly and lower. "I've always thought you were beautiful, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Sansa's grip tensed on him. Through the drug-induced haze, she knew it was just the chocolate making him say these things, but she liked it all the same.

When his hand came between her legs, she spread them immediately, enough for him to touch her there over her clothes. She keened, her head tipping back against the door and her eyes falling closed. Slowly, Jon dropped both hands to her skirts and started bunching them up, bit by bit, until he had them lifted to her waist. Sansa opened her eyes and tilted her chin down again to look at him as he found his way with one hand under her shift, touching the bare skin of her stomach.

His eyes were steady on hers, heady and dark, demanding she not look away. So she didn't, even though her eyelids fluttered as his hand moved lower. She was panting by the time he touched her wetness, nothing separating their skin now, and her entire body lit up. Never in her life had she felt so desperate for anything. He slid a finger into her sopping heat and she let out a high-pitched moan that sounded more like a cry.

"Gods," he breathed. "You feel so sweet."

She shivered, gripping his arm tightly as he slowly pumped his finger in and out.  She was clenching around him every other second, eyes locked onto his. No sooner had she thought she wanted another finger did he add one, pressing deep and hard all at once.

"Jon," she said on a sigh, rolling her hips into his hand.

He grunted, pressing his body closer to hers, like he couldn't help it, his length fitting snugly next to his hand. She wanted him inside her. She wanted him to lift her against the door and bury himself as deep as he could.

And then her mind broke through, whispering that he was her half-brother, that this was wrong, that it only felt good because of the drug ... that she needed to stop this.

Sansa abruptly pushed him away, her dress falling around her again without him there to hold it up. Jon stopped only feet away, chest heaving with breaths, not taking his eyes off her. Sansa had to look away, though. She feared she'd let him keep going if she didn't. She'd let him inside her.

"I need you to go," she said raggedly, wanting him to stay. "Please don't come back. Just try to ... try to make the effects wear off on your own, with your own hands."

He shook his head.

"I don't want that."

"Jon, please," she said, clutching her skirts. "I can't do this."

He started to close the distance again, and she tried to back away, but she was already pressed to the door.

"Please, Jon, don't."

He stilled, and even though she couldn't look at him, she could see he wouldn't take his eyes off her. Gods, did she want his hands back on her. She wanted to touch him, too. She wanted his length in her hand; she wanted to take him into her mouth, wanted him to stroke her hair while she knelt before him and brought him to peak with her tongue.

She squeezed her eyes shut to dispel the image, clenching around nothing. She needed to let him go. In the next moment, she opened her eyes and moved away from the door, not looking at him as she hurried to her bed. It took him a few seconds, but she heard him leave, and she was equal parts relieved and disappointed.

The disappointment grew to regret as the pain resurfaced and grew the farther he got from her room. She was  _not_  going through this again. She had to take her own advice, to use her hands on herself and see if that worked. The pain was growing by the second, increasing her heart rate and making her uncomfortable in her own skin.

Sansa removed her dress as quickly as she could, bulky as it was, and got into bed on top of the furs wearing only her shift. She had to do this before Jon moved further away, because the distance between them was agony. There had never been a reason to touch herself before, so she'd never tried, but Jon had just done some things to her. If she just copied him, it should work.

It was awkward reaching between her legs, but the moment her fingers slid through her slippery heat, it felt better. Not as good as when Jon did it. And while the pain did abate some, it was still noticeable like it hadn't been when Jon was the one touching her. But still, it was fading, even if slightly, so she didn't stop. There was nothing she could think of but Jon, Jon and his hands and his eyes and his face, and that was the only thing her body seemed to want, so she used it.

She imagined her hand was his, dipping inside her as he'd done, and she closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could see him there on top of her, could feel him kissing her cheek, and her neck, his tongue damp on her skin. The ghost of his hands dragged down her sides, and now instead of his hand inside her, she thought of his cock. She let out a quiet moan, her hips rising slightly off the bed. Yes, that was it. That image, right there, that was what she wanted. She pumped her fingers in a matching rhythm with what she imagined Jon would do to her. Would he go fast, or would he go slow? He'd do whatever she wanted, wouldn't he? If she said harder, he'd fuck her harder. If she said 'kiss me', he'd kiss her until she couldn't breathe. That was always Jon, so giving. Sansa twisted in the sheets, turning her head and burying her face into the pillow. She could scarcely breathe. Her other hand drifted to join the first, finding a sweet spot that made her bite her inner cheek when she rubbed it. She rubbed it faster, imagining Jon thrusting into her, imagining his body pressed flush to hers, his soft, warm kisses on her mouth, his breath on her neck. She could very nearly  _feel him_ inside her as she rocked on her own hand, and in seconds, she was crying out, her head thrown back into her pillows and her back arching off the bed as her climax washed over her.

Whatever this feeling was, she could only describe it as bliss. She felt her cunt bear down on her own fingers, and she shamelessly rolled her hips into them, her body twitching as she rode out the feeling. It lasted longer than she'd thought it would, and afterward, the light blanket of serenity was so relaxing that she almost forgot the reason for which she was doing this.

But once the climax subsided, she had only a few seconds to realize the pain was gone before it was back with a vengeance. It was so sudden, so jarring, that she cried out in shock, her insides flaring in agony so immense that she thought this was what dying truly felt like. There was no pain worse than this, there couldn't be. Not drowning, not burning, not bleeding to death, nothing. This was it, this was the worst.

Sansa flipped onto her stomach, and unable to help herself, screamed into her pillow. It was too much. She couldn't do this. She had to go to Jon. No matter how important it was to resist, her need was so much stronger. She was going mad, she had to be near him, she just had to.

No part of Sansa was in control as she left her bed and threw on a night cloak. All she was feeling was torturous hurt, like burning and ripping and being bludgeoned all at once. Her feet couldn't take her fast enough to Jon's chambers. How could she have sent him away in the first place? It was so obvious that it was him her body wanted. She didn't need anyone else. She couldn't be with him in that way, but being close to him, touching him, it had to be enough.

Jon's chambers weren't far from Sansa's own. They were down the opposite wing of the castle, the more deserted section, but it was minutes before she'd turned the corner down the hall that would take her to him. By that time, the pain had diminished almost entirely and she'd nearly started running. She would have had she not been startled to a halt by his door swinging open up ahead.

Jon strode out, not looking at all surprised by her visit. He must have felt it, too, then ... the assuaging of pain. The distance between them closed quickly as he came toward her, grabbing her hand and dragging her back down the hall and into his room, his touch a sweet, sweet relief. When they were inside, he closed the door and pressed her back against it, reached up to shove the deadbolt into place, and then he took her face in his hands and kissed her hard.

Sansa moaned into it, wasting no time before kissing him back. Jon pulled away too quickly for her liking, pressing his forehead to hers, his eyes closed.

"Sansa, I need you," he said, his voice low, wrecked. "I need to be inside you, please."

"We can't," she whimpered.

She wanted to, but they couldn't. Jon pulled back to look at her, stroking her cheeks, his eyes pleading.

"I know it hurts you, too," he said, pressing his body closer. She resisted a moan at the feel of him. "I tried doing what you said, I tried doing it myself, but it didn't work. I'll make you feel good, I promise."

Sansa was breathless, could barely think because everything he was saying was true and she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. But they couldn't do it. She couldn't even remember _why_ they couldn't, but there must have been a reason.

"Maybe we don't have to go that far," she said. "Maybe we just have to touch each other. It went away when I did it myself."

Jon groaned. "You touched yourself?"

Sansa nodded, and he cursed. His voice shook when he spoke again, looking into her eyes.

"Were you thinking about me?"

She swallowed, nodding again. Jon briefly shut his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers, and then kissed her again. She made a soft noise when he did. Gods, she loved his kisses.

"Okay," he said, pressing quick kisses down her cheek and against her neck.

In the next second, he tucked his hands under her legs and lifted her up his body to carry her to his bed. Sansa grappled for purchase around his shoulders, her legs fitting around his waist, and Jon kissed her bare chest, just above her breasts. He had one arm under her and the other clamped around her back so her could lower her gently to his bed, climbing on top of her and kissing her everywhere he could. In mere seconds, he became fed up with her clothing.

"Take this off," he said, pulling at the edge of her night cloak. "Take it all off."

"You, too," she said in a rush, clumsily divesting herself of the cloak.

Jon didn't waste any time. His chest was bare when Sansa was pulling off her underthings, so hasty she nearly ripped her shift. Instead of finishing removing his clothes, Jon merely stared. His mouth had gone slack as his eyes roved down her naked body. Sansa squirmed beneath the heat in his face, legs rubbing together. With a quiet curse, Jon leaned down and took a peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking it. Sansa bit her bottom lip, straining her chest higher and reaching up with one hand to caress the back of his head. He moved to the other breast, holding the flesh of it in his hand and squeezing. He was sucking as much of her into his mouth as he could, his tongue circling her bud. Sansa's hands were shaking, and Jon was rolling his hardness into her leg.

When he moaned around her nipple, Sansa released a shaky exhale and touched his strong, bare chest, her hand travelling down.

"Let me touch you," she begged, fingers against the hem of his bottoms so he'd know what she meant.

Jon gave her breast another hard suck that twinged all the way down in her heat, and then he lurched back. His hands went instantly to the ties of his breeches, fumbling in his haste to remove them. The strings slid noisily through their hoops, and then hooked his thumbs under the band, nearly tugging them off. But then he looked at her and dropped his hands, reaching for hers instead and guiding them to his breeches. Sansa wet her lips, sitting up and touching his lower abdomen. Instead of immediately divesting him of his clothes, she slid one hand beneath the band of his breeches and down through the coarse hairs to his length. When she took hold of it, warm and thick and hard, Jon grunted, his hands coming to the sides of her face. As he tenderly combed his fingers through her hair, Sansa gave him one slow, upward tug. He jerked forward, drawing her eyes to his. The look of dark, blatant lust on his face undid her.

She came with a soft, quiet noise, her grip tightening on him as she did, pleasure rolling through her body. It wasn't as powerful as the first one in her room. She needed something to fill her. Jon growled at the sight of her coming and yanked his breeches down to his knees on his own. He pushed her back down to the bed with his body and slid two fingers through her heat just enough to get them slippery before he drove them inside. Squirming beneath him, Sansa grabbed onto his arm with her free hand while her other started pumping him faster. He rocked into her hand, and she leaned up to kiss his neck.

"Fuck," he grunted, fingers dragging against her walls as her orgasm subsided. "You feel so good around me."

Another mini-orgasm wracked her body at his words, but while this one was shorter, it was also more intense. She let out a high-pitched cry against Jon's neck, rolling her hips along his fingers while he continued pumping into her. She dropped her head back to the pillow to see him staring at her face with parted lips, and she squeezed him, thumb rubbing the head of his cock. He came in the next second with a broken groan, pumping into her hand as he coated her wrist and her stomach with his spend. He kissed her hard, his mouth soft and warm and perfect. They came down together, both still gently stroking the other and panting into each other's mouths. Jon's gaze was so intense she could feel it. He kicked his breeches off all the way and used them to wipe himself off her skin before tossing them to the floor, hovering over her again.

The need hadn't gone anywhere after that, only strengthened. While the pain was finally, blessedly absent, Sansa was now overwhelmed with desire for Jon. Their coupling could cause the end of the world, but it still wouldn't deter her. She couldn't resist him anymore. She needed him and no one else; no one else could ever do.

Jon seemed to be feeling the same.

"Please, Sansa," he begged, voice ragged, thumb stroking her jaw.

She knew what he was asking. She let out a shaky exhale and pushed him back onto the bed, following him immediately and throwing a leg over his hips to straddle him. He hadn't softened even slightly, and she hadn't cooled. She wasn't careful or slow or sultry with her movements. Instead, she took him in hand again and guided his head to her entrance, sinking down hard all at once until he was completely buried inside.

They cried out together, the tremor of her high voice mixed with the baritone of his. She was very wet, but he was thick enough that her slick didn't prevent the twinge inside her. It was barely a blip on her radar, though. Her mind was consumed with this heady need, so much so that the pain was a background to the incredible stretch of him inside her. She could feel how snug he fit within her, could feel her insides trying to squeeze him, but being allotted no room. When she lifted her hips, she swore she could feel him drag against every inch of her walls. There was nothing that could compare. This fullness was what she needed, and suddenly, she couldn't imagine why she ever resisted.

Jon's grip clenched around her hips as she balanced her hands on his chest. She worked into a slow rhythm, lifting up and then sliding back down to force him all the way inside. She liked the way he was watching her; liked the look on his face. A shiver rippled down her spine at the open pleasure clear in his features. When she sank down faster and harder than before, now getting used to him, Jon growled and slammed his hips up into hers. A sound left her unbidden at the feeling, of him pressing so deep and so hard inside. She nearly toppled onto him, but he lurched up, holding her, bringing one strong arm around her waist and pulling her tight against him.

He was kissing her, his mouth desperate, his groans just as well, and his hand was drawing paths all over her body that seemed to ignite in his wake. His kisses were quick and urgent, his upward thrusts hard and unrelenting, and in the next moment, he held her tight about the waist and flipped her onto her back, punctuating the move with one hard thrust before stilling all the way inside. His stillness lasted only a moment, and then he was moving again, slowly in and out. He gave her a long kiss, one hand cradling her face, and then he pulled back to see her.

It was intense that way, feeling him moving so deeply inside while having him gazing into her eyes, close enough that she thought he might see her soul. He might see everything, how wonderful she felt, how badly she wanted him to feel just as wonderful, her prideful sense of vindication that she knew she shouldn't feel, but couldn't help. What would those girls say if they saw this, those girls who always followed Jon in crowds around the Keep, giggling and touching him and trying to get his attention? She wished she could tell them never to look at him again. She wished she could show them this, could show them how much he wanted her and none of them.

"You feel incredible," he murmured with a gentle thrust, kissing her softly as his free hand trailed down her side from her waist. "I've never lain with a woman before, but I don't think any could feel as sweet and soft as you."

Sansa whimpered, rolling her hips up into him. He said such lovely things. He made her feel so special, even though it was the drug making him say it. She didn't need to confess that she'd never been with a boy, because of course he knew, but she was inclined to agree. How could it feel better than Jon? She should be worried for so many things, her marriage, her virtue, her value ... the fact that it would have greatly decreased now, the fact that she had been ruined by her own kin. But she never wanted Joffrey Baratheon anyway. She didn't want to share this with anyone but Jon. She didn't want him to share it with anyone but her. She raged at the very idea of him doing this with anyone else.

"I get jealous," she blurted. "When other girls watch you in the training yard."

Stupid,  _stupid_ , what was she saying? She had to stop it. Jon wouldn't like it. He'd think her foul.

But he gave a soft moan, fully seated within her, and ground his hips hard into hers. He was balancing with his hand on the bed, but his arm started to shake, so he lowered himself onto his forearm, his body pressing closer to hers. Sansa didn't think he could get close  _enough_.

"You get jealous?" he asked darkly.

She murmured her assent, eyes closing as his lips moved to her neck, kissing her ardently. He was rocking into her now, hips barely lifting from hers at all, chest and body pressed firmly to hers.

"Were you before?" he murmured, lips lifting to her mouth to kiss her there. "When you threw my tunic?"

Sansa couldn't believe Jon was lucid enough to remember that. She, herself, was so delirious with pleasure that she wouldn't have remembered it if he'd not brought it up.

"Wear clothes," she chastised, running her hands over his arms. "I don't like it when they stare."

Abruptly, Jon pulled out almost all the way and drove back in. Sansa couldn't contain the high-pitched noise that tumbled from her lips. Jon captured it in a kiss, and repeated the motion again.

"I'll tell them all to leave," he said roughly, pumping faster. "I only want you to watch me."

Trembling, Sansa leaned up to kiss him, drawing her knees up along his waist.

"Tell me you like it," he begged when she broke the kiss.

Her head dropped against the pillow and he followed her down, kissing her again.

"I do," she breathed when he gave her the chance. "I like it."

"Yeah?" he urged, pulling back to look into her eyes, to hold her cheek in his hand. "Does it feel good?"

She nodded, breathing 'yes' and drawing her hand down the warm skin of his arm to wrap around his wrist.

"Do _you_  feel good?" she asked after a moment, shy.

"Gods, Sansa," he said, his voice shaky. "I've never felt so good in my life."

She let out a soft sound, clenching around him, and wound her arms around his shoulders to keep him close, pressing her cheek against his. She was a little out of her mind, her focus consumed by Jon, but she was nevertheless aware of the sound of someone walking down the hall beyond Jon's door. Jon heard, too, slowing his movements, but didn't stop, still pumping slowly into her. Sansa was in a slight panic, but she couldn't make herself stop, either. Jon seemed to sense her sudden tension.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, even as he continued to push inside.

"Did you lock the door?" she asked as quietly as she could, unable to remember.

"Yes," he whispered, grinding deeply into her and then promptly burying his face into her hair to muffle his moan.

He seemed unable to help from giving her one fast, sharp thrust, and Sansa whimpered, pressing her mouth closed to conceal it.

The steps grew closer, and closer, and closer, and...

... further, and further, and further, disappearing down the hall in the other direction.

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, her body relaxing.

"See?" Jon cooed. "You're all right."

He pulled out to the head and then slammed all the way in, covering her mouth with his hand to muffle her cry. He did it again, and she felt it everywhere. This time her moan was low beneath his hand, and she arched her hips up to meet his when he did it again.

Sansa was glad it hadn't been Robb at the door, or her Father, Gods forbid. She didn't think she'd be able to stop.

Jon lifted his hand so he could kiss her, his fingers tangled in her hair. His other hand dragged down her body all the way to her thigh and then lifted it to his side, driving very deep as he did. Sansa tightened around him, her breaths loud and heavy.

"Yes, Sansa," Jon whispered, staring at her face. "Yes, sweet girl, yes."

He was relentless in his pace, squeezing her thigh as she clenched around him over and over. She was writhing beneath him, so close, her body so close, and Jon swore, kissing her hard and gliding a hand between them to rub quickly against her. Sansa's peak hit her all at once, her body tightening around him so hard she didn't know how he could still move inside her.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, deep and throaty. His thrusts were still fast, though Sansa's grip was so tight on him now, and she rolled her head back, mouth open in a silent O, fingers clutched around his biceps.

He didn't stop rubbing her, didn't stop fucking her, not even slowing down. It was the best thing Sansa had ever felt in her life, pleasure ricocheting through her body, wave after wave of a neverending peak. Jon stroked her face, drawing his hand back and slowing his pace just slightly, still pushing in deeply. Sansa opened her eyes, her orgasm softening into aftershocks, her legs twitching with every one of his thrusts. He was looking at her face, his own looking desperate and wild and _so close_. He was breathing heavily, and when she murmured his name, her hands ghosting along his sides, she felt him grow inside her. Neither of them had the sense to make him pull out.

He thrust hard into her with a broken sound, and she could feel him spilling inside. He pressed his face down into her hair, his harsh breaths expelling warmly into her neck as his hips jerked against hers, emptying himself within her. Sansa held him close, one arm around his back and the other hand caressing his hair as his breathing slowed again.

They both came down gradually, neither moving but for their hands tracing delicate patterns on one another's skin. When Sansa drew her hand up the arm he was using to brace himself above her, she found it trembling with the exertion of holding himself up. He hadn't even said anything. He was still inside her, not quite softening, but not as hard as before. Sansa wrapped her left leg over his waist and flipped him to the right onto his back. He exhaled in slight surprise, hands coming up to her sides. She was looking at him, and he was looking at her, both breathing deep and slow and full, not saying anything. He reached up with both hands to her face, his touches tender, and he gathered her hair behind her and pulled it over one shoulder.

Sansa was waiting for the inevitable sinking feeling of shame to come in, for regret and anxiety, for the self-hatred and disappointment. But all she felt was a quiet panic because any moment now, Jon was going to kick her out, and she very strongly did not want to leave. Instead of doing that, though, he kept caressing her, kept gazing at her face and then her body and then where he was still fitted inside her, looking for all the world like a man in love. Maybe the drug hadn't worn off, then. If she still wanted him, and he still wanted her, then that was the only logical explanation, wasn't it?

"How long do you think the drug will take to wear off?" she asked, fingers splaying on his chest, lightly tracing the lines of his muscles.

Jon looked a little confused, his hand moving up and down her arm.

"Can't you feel it?" he asked gently. "It already has."

Sansa frowned. That couldn't be the case. If it had worn off, she'd want to leave. She felt Jon twitch inside her, growing harder again, and at the slight ache it ignited, she remembered something horrid.

"I was supposed to stay a maiden," she said, frightful. "For Joffrey."

The shift in Jon's expression was instant.

"I don't want to talk about Joffrey," he said roughly, a little harsh.

He lurched up, but slowed so he wouldn't crash into her. Sansa gave a soft gasp, her elbows bending at his advance, hands still pressed to the muscles of his chest. Jon's face was close to hers, one hand flat on the bed to support him while the other traced the curve of her waist, and he started to rock up into her. Even though she felt a tight pinch now that she hadn't before, he still felt wonderful. That had to mean that the drug hadn't left, then, but it must have been near to it. So Jon was wrong. Sansa was confident she'd want to leave once it truly wore off.

Jon pushed up into her a little harder and she moaned, starting to meet his upward thrusts. He gave her an appreciative little grunt and pressed forward to kiss her. It was a long kiss, patient and content, and then he broke it and pressed several quick ones to her lips in succession. Sansa giggled, feeling his smile against her mouth.

"Come here," he whispered, his lips grazing hers, and then he lied back down, pushing gently up into her.

Sansa adjusted herself and slowly followed, dropping her hands to his bed to keep her hovering above him. His hands found her thighs and gently stroked them, sliding up and down.

"Come closer," he murmured, and Sansa dropped instead to her forearms.

Jon brushed her hair to the side, above his shoulder, and leaned up to kiss her. She went with him so he didn't have to strain, and he continued slowly moving within her from below.

"Closer," he whispered again. "Put your weight on me."

She did, slowly lowering herself against him, her breasts flattened against the strong swell of his chest. She pressed her arms into his sides, her palms curling over his shoulder blades, holding onto his shoulders. His hands went to her sides, gliding around her waist until he had his arms wrapped around her back. He was holding her to him as tightly as he could, and then he started thrusting hard up into her, fast and relentless. Sansa cried out against his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders, and Jon didn't stop fucking her. He breathed her name and a curse in the same sentence while Sansa panted against his neck, near limp in his arms. He slammed into her hard a final time, pushing her hips higher as he did, and then moved more slowly. Sansa was absolutely soaking in her own wetness.

Grazing his neck with the edge of her pinky finger, she pulled back and immediately went for his lips. Jon returned her heated kiss, dipping one hand between their bodies to rub at the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs while he pumped long and slow into her. Sansa let out a breathy moan and sat up on him, her eyes closing and head tilting back as she clenched around him over and over, nearing another peak. She lifted her hands to her breasts, squeezing her flesh and pinching at the stiff buds.

"Feel good?" Jon murmured, fingers quick in her wet flesh.

"Yes," she moaned, and he bucked up into her.

He covered her hand with his free one, and Sansa quickly moved hers out to press it over his, squeezing his hand around her breast. Riding him, close to coming, Sansa opened her eyes to see his face, wanting to look into his eyes when her pleasure hit. She hadn't expected his face to be what pushed her over the edge, but it did, her walls tightening hard around him, ripples of bliss washing through her. She leaned down just enough to touch his face, her other hand against the mattress supporting her weight as she found her own rhythm, Jon lying still so she could use him how she needed to. Just looking at him was making her climax more intense.

"Gods, but you're a handsome man," she breathed, thumb trailing against his bottom lip.

Jon cursed, surging up and bringing an arm around her to support her as he flipped them again so that he was above, so that he could pound into her now. Gasping, Sansa arched her back, her neck arching, too, and she clutched at the pillow beneath her, her other hand grasping at her wrist. She had her eyes closed, basking in the sensation of his body, how good he felt as he worked her through her orgasm. Wickedly, she wanted him to spill inside her again.

He touched her hand, and she released her wrist so he could link their fingers, pushing them into the pillow next to her head. Sansa turned her face to their hands, searching with her lips until she found the back of his thumb, softly kissing it.

"Look at me, please," he said quietly. "Let me see your face."

Sansa's eyes fluttered open and she rolled her head to find his hooded, dark eyes on her. Sansa released the pillow with her free hand and touched his face, drawing her hand down his jaw, his neck, his chest.

"Jon," she breathed, and he released a shaky breath, his eyelids sinking just a fraction.

His hips stuttered into hers, his steady rhythm broken. Sansa felt it again, the warmth of his seed spurting inside her, and it made her walls tighten around him. Jon didn't stop looking at her as he rode it out, his eyes moving between both of hers. They must have made a mess all over the bed. She didn't envy the servant who would have to clean it.

His arm wasn't trembling this time, no longer incapable of holding him up. He was still holding her hand beside her head, gently playing with her fingers, and she used the free one to slide broad strokes along the curve of his muscled arm. Jon leaned in to kiss her again, long and soft, his whole body pressed to hers.

"How could I let you leave now?" he murmured against her lips, kissing her again.

Sansa giggled, finding herself incredibly wanton and not at all like herself. There were no after effects of the drug coursing through her anymore. No delirious lust. No pain at all.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, kissing and caressing, but it had been a while before Jon released her hand and eased himself out of her. He sank to his stomach next to her on the furs, leaving no space between them. One leg remained over hers and his arm was draped over her body. His face turned toward her, eyes closed. She had her face turned to him, too, but she was watching him, gently stroking the arm he'd caged her with. She thrilled at the possessiveness of him keeping her in place with his body, even if he didn't mean it that way. With the way he was covering her with his heavy limbs, it was easy to fantasize that he was thinking about making her stay with him. It shouldn't have been such an exciting thought, but it was.

His breaths were slow and deep, his back expanding with every one. He must have fallen asleep, but Sansa couldn't sleep. Not that she would ever even chance falling asleep in Jon's chambers with him, both naked as their name days. But it was calming, watching the steady rise and fall of his body, and she wanted to stay just a little bit longer. It was such a simple thing, but she liked the verifiable proof right in front of her that this person, this Jon Snow, was alive and safe and close, right by her side.

For a moment, it was easy to imagine that this was real, that she and Jon were lovers, that his closeness and his refusal to relinquish his hold on her, even in sleep, was because he cared for her like she did him. She'd given up on trying to convince herself the drug was still in her system, knowing that was a pointless thing to argue about with her conscience. Likely, she'd known about her feelings for some time. She'd pretended they weren't there, had pretended her jealousy was anger, had squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head whenever her daydreaming turned to him smiling and laughing, or splashing around in the river they sometimes went to with their other siblings.

And that, right there, was why she'd never before let herself properly acknowledge it. Siblings. They were siblings. And she'd let him inside her anyway. The drug was a blessing and a curse, an agony and a bliss all rolled into one. It gave her an excuse to take liberties with him, to do things she'd never, ever do in a million years while lucid. But now what? She'd ruined her future, she was betrothed to someone else. How would things be now? What was she supposed to do after this?

Well ... first she would leave his chambers while he still slept. It was the least she could do, giving herself some time to prepare for what would follow. Which was that when she saw him again, she would have to put on a face of regret and remorse and grovel at his feet for forgiveness, begging him not to tell anyone what happened. Though none of that would be so hard when she truly was feeling those things already, imagining how vile he'd think her if he knew how she felt, that she thought about him all the time, that her mind tormented her whenever it felt like with thoughts of him and what it might be like to kiss him. But she knew that feeling now, and she wished she didn't. It was far better than anything she'd imagined.

Sansa stopped touching his arm and reached over instead to brush her fingers one last time through his dark curls. Swallowing, looking at his peaceful face, she drew back and tried to extract herself as gently as she could so as not to wake him. But she'd only managed to rise onto her elbows before Jon stopped her, his hand suddenly gripping her hip. Fear spiked in her heart, so it took her a moment to turn to him. His eyes were open and panicked, watching her. Sansa couldn't hold his gaze. So the drug must have worn off for him, as well, then. He was realizing now that he'd just lain with his sister. And they were going to have to talk about right now, how horrible, what a mistake, never tell anyone, this shouldn't have happened, and all manner of other things Sansa wasn't ready for.

"Where are you going?" he asked, very quietly.

Sansa swallowed.  _Don't hate me, please._

"I have to go back to my rooms," she said, just as quiet.

"Stay a little longer."

Sansa froze, turning her head a fraction toward him. Could it be that ... somehow the drug was still in his system? Well, it was better that way, then. She didn't want to have this conversation yet.

"No," she said, starting to move away. "I have to go."

Jon's hand on her hip clutched her tighter.

"Just a few more minutes," he whispered.

He stroked his thumb along her hipbone, a silent plea. Sansa closed her eyes slowly, taking a deep breath, and lied back down. As soon as she did, he pulled himself up to hover over her. She could do this. For a few more minutes, she could pretend that it wasn't just him, that she, too, was still affected by that damned magical chocolate.

He brushed her hair back from her face and settled his hand against the side of her head, fingers gently massaging her scalp. His eyes traced a path along her hairline, down the shape of her face to her chin, up again to her eyes to gaze between them. Sansa wrapped her hand around his wrist where it rested beside her head. She stroked the delicate skin beneath his palm, and Jon's eyes dropped down to her lips. She parted them without thinking about it, and he leaned down, kissing her sweetly. It was all they did for the next few minutes, kiss each other, Jon touching her with his careful hands, murmuring in appreciation every time she touched him back.

She was lost in his mouth when she felt his fingertips dancing very lightly on the skin of her waist. She jerked away at the ticklish sensation, though apparently, that was what Jon had been going for. He tickled her again, more intensely this time, and Sansa laughed, trying to squirm away from his hands, grabbing them to pull them off her. Jon laughed, too, and with a handsome grin, he grabbed both her hands and pressed them into his pillow above her head, moving his warm mouth down to her neck. Sansa hummed, tilting her chin to give him better access.

"Kiss me again," she murmured.

Jon listened, happily so, tracing his lips along her jaw to press to her mouth. He slid his tongue inside, something he'd never done before, and Sansa found she quite liked it. She shivered, a quiet moan escaping her, and then he gave her a short peck before lifting his head away. He stroked both of her thumbs with his, looking a little regretful. Her heart squeezed. Regretting this, regretting her. Was the drug wearing off? She had to leave as soon as possible.

"You should go," he said quietly.

Even though she'd just thought the same thing herself, Sansa felt an unexpected sting at his words, as though he was dismissing her.

She nodded, looking away, and Jon moved off of her to let her up. She left his bed, dressing a little clumsily with him behind her, feeling stupidly embarrassed and rejected. She'd known all along that it was the drug making Jon behave this way, that once it wore off, he'd likely do worse than merely dismiss her. And it wasn't like she'd ever thought anything would come of this. It was too complicated when they were siblings. And he would never want it, not ever.

Gods, she felt so pathetic. Her stupid, traitorous heart was thumping slow and dejected, upset that her stupid older brother didn't want her in his bed any longer.  _You're mad, girl_ , she thought bitterly, tying her night cloak closed.  _You've lost your mind._

Sansa heard Jon hastily moving to stand behind her, shuffling around. She didn't turn to look, slipping on her night shoes and going to the door. When she pulled open the deadbolt, Jon appeared next to her wearing only a pair of clean breeches, and held out his hand to get her to stop. She did, unsure of what he meant to do, until he opened the door on his own and peered out, making sure no one was around. That hurt, too. He was only concerned with not being caught. Coming back into the room, he held the door wider and beckoned Sansa through. She couldn't even look at him. Embarrassed, still feeling the unfathomable sting of rejection, she passed him and stepped into the hallway, immediately starting to walk away.

But then Jon reached for her and pulled her back again with a quiet, "Wait," and then all at once pressed her against his opened door, kissing her deeply just there inside his room.

"You didn't even mean to say goodbye?" he breathed against her mouth, nosing her cheek.

Sansa swallowed, saying nothing.

"Come back tomorrow night," he said, kissing her again, moving closer so his body was flush with hers. "I'll need to have you again."

She wished he wouldn't have said that. She wished he wouldn't give her a glimmer of hope over a future that she very much wanted, but could never have. And how was the drug still in his system when it had already left hers? Did it last longer on men? That might make sense. Sansa heard many whisperings that men usually didn't last as long in bed as a woman did. So maybe the chocolate worked different on them.

"Sansa," he prompted, near on a plea.

 _You poor fool,_ she thought, and she wasn't sure if she meant it of him or of herself.

"Okay," she lied, knowing that the drug will have certainly worn off by next morning, nevermind a full day from then. "I will."

Jon kissed her again, deeply again with his tongue in her mouth, and Sansa only had a moment to kiss him back before he let her go, hands dropping from her hair as he stepped back.

He hung out of his room as she left, watching her leave. At the far end of the hall, she gave him one last longing look where he stood still staring after her, and then she turned the corner to her own chambers, and Jon disappeared from sight.

 


End file.
